Divine Torment
by Marie of Romania
Summary: Ever wonder what Kartik was thinking throughout his encounters with the mysterious Gemma Doyle? Does he see her as a task, someone to be used for the Rakshana’s benefit? Or does he see her as something else? Observe the world through Kartik’s eyes.
1. Her Again

ATTENTION CONTAINS SPOILERS: DO NO READ IF YOU HAVE NOT READ REBEL ANGELS BY LIBBA BRAY! You have been warned.

Disclaimer: It astounds me the way people can make their disclaimers so creative and original. So I decided to give it a try and make my disclaimer unique, just like everyone else's. Ahem, here it goes…I do not own A Great and Terrible Beauty or Rebel Angels, nor do I own the characters, or even the plot (sad, huh?). I merely own Kartik's point of view throughout the following chapters. There. Creative enough? No? Well too bad.

A/N: GASP! I'm actually writing a fic that has nothing to do with Harry Potter! A travesty! So anyway, one fateful night I finished Rebel Angels, and I thought to myself; what was Kartik thinking throughout this? And then it hit me! Really hard too. There's a little something called fanfiction! Which enables me to add/twist/ruin/etc anything I want to about any book/movie/show/etc! So I decided to write a fic that takes us through Kartik's point of view throughout his confusing romance (kinda…) with Gemma during Rebel Angels. I won't do every single part with Kartik in it, because some parts are really long and I don't want to drag this fic on too much since I'm also finishing Back in Time. All in all, I wanted to take a quick break from humor and try my hand at romance and angst and see how bad I am at it. Now, let's get on with it!

Note: The following chapter occurs in Rebel Angels, pages 50-53 (hardback).

oOoOoOo

I dreamt of her again.

I don't remember much of my dream. But the parts I do recollect come to my mind as clearly as if they had actually happened. I can recall her face hovering just above mine, her fiery hair tickling me as her soft, warm lips met my own, her hand stroking my bare chest…

I knew these dreams had to stop, or I would never be able to fulfill my task. My place in the Rakshana would be nonexistent. I would fail my brother. I had to put a stop to these dreams…no matter how much I enjoyed them.

I closed my eyes, pounding the back of my head repeatedly against the prickly tree I was leaning on. _Thud. Thud. Thud._

The rhythmic sound of dull thudding was the only thing keeping me sane.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Had to stop the dreams…

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Must not fail the Rakshana…

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Must not fail my brother…

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Must carry out the task…

_Thud._

"That's not fair!" cried a familiar, but very distant, voice.

_Her._

I peeked around the tree, a familiar, but unusually beautiful sight meeting my eyes.

A blanket of pure white snow covered the grounds of Spence, the illustrious school looming in the background. The sun shone down on the visage, making the snow sparkle dazzlingly. I could just make out the fearsome gargoyles that the castle was covered with; little grey dots sprinkled across the mesmerizing towers.

"Ann, do you always do as you're told?" her voice exclaimed, now nearby. "This is war!"

I peered through the thick trees of the forest, spotting a red head of hair racing toward me. She was coming.

I quickly hid behind the tree again, heart beating rapidly, unsure if I should reveal myself or not.

But the sound of her footsteps stopped, and I peeked around the tree again. She stood stock-still, arms out, and straining against something. It was then that I realized she was stuck in the mud, and was straining to release her feet from their muddy prison.

I hurried forward from my hiding place and grabbed her wrist, and just in time, for she nearly fell forward on her face. I pulled her up from the mud and quickly dragged her behind my tree. She lifted her head in surprise and her eyes met mine.

"Kartik!"

"Hello Miss Doyle," I said, smiling at her soggy appearance. She was soaked, and was covered in dripping snow; wet tendrils of golden red hair that had escaped from her bun now framed her face, making her look rather alluring. I chose to ignore this. "You look…well."

A small blushed crept across her features. I chose to ignore this as well.

"Why didn't you respond to my note?" I asked, trying to keep the slight distress out of my voice. I would never admit it to anyone, but I had worried about her. I tried not to, I wasn't _supposed_ to. But I could not help it. When she did not respond to my note, I became concerned that someone or something had possibly harmed her in some way. I hated myself for it, especially now that she was standing in front of me, unharmed and playing in the snow. I felt foolish. Of course she had snubbed me; I was of no importance to her. I was only a messenger, getting in the way.

She grimaced slightly. "It is difficult to get away. I…"

She stopped, hearing something. I heard it too; her friend was calling for her.

I tightened my grip on her arm to prevent her from following her friend's summons. I had to inform her of the most recent condition of the realms. "No matter. We've little time and I've much to say. There is trouble in the realms."

She frowned, and her eyebrows furrowed slightly. "What sort of trouble? When I left, all seemed well. Circe's assassin had been defeated."

I shook my head and her frown deepened. "Do you remember when you smashed the Runes of the Oracle and you set your mother free?"

She nodded.

"Those Runes were the Order's ancient binding on the great power inside the realms. A sort of safe for their magic. It was a way to ensure that they alone could draw on it."

I heard her friend call for her again, and I could tell she was getting closer to where we spoke.

"When you smashed the runes, Miss Doyle, you destroyed the binding," I whispered urgently.

Her eyes widened. "I released the magic into the realms."

I nodded. "Now it is loose, free for anyone to use for any purpose, even if they do not know how. This magic is extremely powerful. And to release it into the realms with no control…"

I trailed off, dreading what I was about to say. But I forced myself to continue. "Certain elements could seek to have domination over all the realms. They could be in league with each other-and with Circe."

"Circe…" she muttered, her expression horrified.

"Gemma, come out, come out wherever you are!" giggled her friend, and I felt a wave of annoyance toward her friend for interrupting our important discussion.

Without thinking, I put a finger to her lips, and flattened her against the tree with my body. I was so close I could feel her warm breath on my neck, and I immediately regretted my decision, for her closeness was making my chest constrict. My dreams came to mind, and I quickly shoved them to the back of my brain and plunged back into our conversation.

"There is a way to bind the magic again. A hope." I could tell her friend was no longer near us, and I stepped away from her, almost reluctantly. "Did your mother ever make mention of a place called the Temple?"

"N-no," she breathed. "What is it?"

"It is the source of magic inside the realms," I answered. "We need you to find it."

"Is there a map? A marker?"

I exhaled and shook my head. I almost hated the fact that she would have to find it on her own. "No one knows where it is. It is well hidden. Only a few members of the Order knew where to find it at any given time. That was the only way to keep it safe."

"How am I to find it, then?" she asked wearily. "Am I to rely on the creatures?"

"No. Trust no one. Trust nothing." _'Including me...'_

"What about my visions? May I rely on them?"

"I don't know. Their source is the realms," I replied, shrugging. "I cannot say."

"And when I find the Temple?" she prompted.

I could feel my face paling and it's as if she's said the magic words. Once she found the Temple and the power of the realms was in the hands of the Rakshana, I would have to kill her. Her. Why did it have to be _her?_

"Use these words: _I bind the magic in the name of the Eastern Star._" I looked away from her as I said this, afraid she might see the lie in my eyes. The Eastern Star. The Rakshana. I was deceiving her and I hated myself for it.

"The Eastern Star. What does it mean?"

"It is a powerful binder, a spell of the Order, I think," I said. I still could not bring myself to look her in the face.

My ears suddenly picked up the noise of approaching feet and I glimpsed her friend drawing closer through the thick forest. Never before was I so glad to see this friend of hers. I prepared to take off through the woods, away from her curious gaze.

"I shall be in touch," I said before leaving. "I don't know what you shall find in the realms, Miss Doyle." I hesitated before adding "Be careful. Please."

I turned to go, but stopped, contemplating whether I should say more. Whether I should give her advice, or support of some sort. I had glanced at her face before I turned and she looked so helpless, so lost. I brought an immense task upon her, and terrible news. Before I could debate with myself any longer I rushed back to her and took her small hand to my mouth, brushing my lips across her smooth, warm skin.

Suddenly shocked with myself, I let go and tore away from her as fast as I could. I had no idea where I was going, but it didn't matter very much. Just as long as it was far away from her.

Pain shot through my side as I sprinted over the snow, dodging trees and bushes. When I could run no longer, I stopped and leaned against a tree, panting. I supported my upper body, which suddenly felt extremely heavy, with my hands on my shaking knees.

_'Fool,'_ I thought to myself. I kissed her. I hadn't meant it to happen, but it seemed like the proper thing to do at the time. Now what would she think of me?

My panting subsided slightly, as did my resentment for my actions. I was supposed to woo her, was I not? I was supposed to gain her trust. But that wasn't what I was thinking when I kissed her hand, and that's what scared me.

oOoOoOo

A/N: Like it, hate it? Tell me so!


	2. Playing With Fire

Disclaimer: If I owned Rebel Angels, don't you think I would be doing something a tad bit more constructive then writing _fanfiction_? Like, maybe, writing the _third book_?

A/N: Well here it is! The second installment of Divine Torment! Just a small warning; I have no idea how good or bad I am at romance. In my opinion, this chapter is extremely cheesy, and it makes me gag. But it also makes me laugh. Kartik makes me laugh. I made him very dramatic (and incredibly horny), so you could call him OOC if you want. I know I read between the lines a bit more than usual, but that was just to add to the story, so it wouldn't be so boring. And that's why I like it, despite its corniness. So review and tell me what _you_ think! Now, onto the story!

Note: The following chapter occurs in Rebel Angels, pages 108-115 (hardback).

oOoOoOo

I examined my surroundings, careful not to disturb anything. Her room was just as I had remembered it; dank, small, and crowded. It mirrored the very icon of a girl's boarding room. It was boring and mediocre, and I couldn't help but think that she would have deserved a room much better than her current accommodations. It seemed too _ordinary_ for her.

I shook my head, clearing my mind of such pitiable thoughts. I was being childish. Childish. Was that the right word? Is there a word to describe such behavior as scaling a wall, forcing the lock of a window open, and then standing in the middle of a lady's room with no apparent reason for being there?

What was I being? Foolish? Delusional? …Lovesick?

_No, _I convinced myself firmly. _Of course not._

I sat down on her bed, my lungs inhaling a strange scent wafting from her sheets. Was it jasmine? It smelled heavenly.

I shook my head again, this time harder. _Stop._

I focused my thoughts instead on why I had come here. Was it to see her? Was I thirsting for human company so badly that I would steal into a girl's dormitory during the night? Pathetic.

Maybe that was it, I decided. I debated, weighing my options; go or stay? _Well, _I mused wearily. _Since I'm here, I might as well make the most out of it._ I would wait for her to come, ask her about the realms, and be on my way. No harm done, no suspicions to be had. But where to wait?

I gazed around the room, searching for a satisfactory place to hide myself until she came. I spotted her dressing screen and I quickly concealed myself behind it, settling into a comfortable position. I thought I might be there a while.

As it turned out I was right; one minute turned into fifteen minutes, and fifteen minutes turned into an hour. And still, she had not retired to her quarters. _Where_ could she be?

I felt my eyes drooping dangerously as the night wore on. Had it been another ten minutes, or another hour? I was too tired to tell. I found myself immensely comfortable, even on the hard floor. Compared to the cold and prickly grounds that were the floors of the forest, the floor behind her dressing screen was incredibly cozy. The smell of jasmine wafted across my hiding place, soothing me. And before I knew it, I had drifted off to a deep sleep…

oOoOoOo

I woke up to the sound of rustling fabric. I stirred, my eyes still shut tight. I was reluctant to awake from my peaceful sleep and my angelic dreams. But a second later I realized where I was, and my eyes snapped open. She was here. I could hear her.

The rustling sound continued and I wondered if I should reveal myself or not. A few minutes of dazed pondering led me to the conception that she might be getting dressed, and I should either announce my presence or peek around the dressing screen and see if it was safe.

My better judgment told me to announce myself, but the small, manipulating part of my mind advised me to have a look and see she was doing. I knew I shouldn't, that it was stupid thing to do. What if she was…naked? _No, _I told myself firmly. _I won't look. I will _not _look. _

I opened my mouth, preparing to announce my incidental presence, but something stopped me. I was in a girl's room, and I wondered; _what did girls do in their rooms? _I would never admit it to anyone, but I had little experience with females. I was curious, and the temptation to steal a look was just too great.

I slowly sat up and inched toward the edge of the screen. And, bringing my face as close as possible to the edge, I peeked around, making sure that only the top of my head and my eyes were revealed. An entrancing sight met my eyes, and I could feel my heartbeat quicken.

She was taking off her boots, her fingers fumbling slightly from either excitement or fear, neither of which made much sense to me. She quickly slipped her feet out of her stockings, exposing pale, delicate ankles. She removed her dress slowly, and I would have believed she was teasing me were it not for the fact that she didn't know I was there. Her corset went off next, leaving only her chemise, and the sight of her nearly sent my head reeling.

Her slender body showed off attractive curves that her uniform had been hiding, and I found myself staring. Captivated, I watched her as she sat down and took her hair out of her bun, her angelic red curls rolling down her back. I ached to touch her hair; to feel its lustrous tresses and test the softness I was so sure it held. I would have felt like a dissolute dog, staring at her like that, but my adrenaline was rushing too fast for me to think clearly.

She sat and stared at her reflection, frowning slightly. What she was thinking about? She began to brush her coppery locks and arrange them across her shoulders, leaving me uncertain as to her intents.

Squinting her eyes at her reflection, she parted her lips slightly and I realized, with growing interest, that she was testing her expressions. Relaxing her face slightly, I noticed that she was giving rather suggestive glances at the mirror. She stopped, gingerly pushing down her shoulder straps, baring smooth, pale shoulders. She then shook her hair, making it look wild and feral. I felt the blood rush to my face, and it suddenly felt very warm in the room.

"Excuse me," she said to her reflection. I jumped slightly; alarmed that she might see me. But then she continued, unperturbed, and I realized with amusement that she was talking to herself, practicing perhaps. "I don't believe we've met. I am…"

_Extraordinary._

She pinched her cheeks distractedly and adopted a new, very different voice.

"Who is it that roams my woods so freely?" she snarled, her small nose wrinkling. "Speak your name. Speak!"

Before I could stop myself, I cleared my throat, attempting to reply. "It is I," I whispered, for I had not fully gained my voice. "Kartik."

She yelped unexpectedly and leaped from her dressing table, tripping on it in the process. As she fell she lashed out her arm and grabbed her chair for support, but instead brought it down with her as she fell to the ground.

I would have vanished into a puff of smoke if I had the ability. My face reddened with embarrassment as I stepped away from the dressing screen, holding out my hands.

"Please," I croaked. "Don't scream." _Idiot. Moron. Dolt._

"How dare you!" she gasped, running to her cupboard.

I couldn't bring myself to look her in the eyes, and instead I settled for my tattered shoes. "I…it wasn't my intention, I assure you. I was there, but I dozed off, and then…are you presentable?" I felt as if I could slap myself then and there, what a fool I had been. What a complete and utter fool. But I did not slap myself, seeing as it would have looked a bit strange. I continued to stare at the floor, my cheeks feeling hotter by the second.

I heard her fumbling with her robe as she answered. "Perhaps you do not know, but it is unforgivable to hide in a lady's room," she fumed. "And not to announce yourself whilst she is dressing…unforgivable." Her words were harshly truthful, and I flinched.

I looked up. "I am sorry." _Pathetic._ Is that all I could say?

"Unforgivable," she repeated, her expression murderous.

"Should I go and come back?"

"As you are already here, you may as well stay," she huffed. "What is it that is so urgent it requires you to scale a wall and hide behind my dressing screen?"

What on Earth was I going to tell her now? That I just wanted to see her? That I just wanted to stop by and say a quick hello? I needed an excuse fast, and I thought of the first thing that came to mind.

"Did you enter the realms?" I blurted, attempting to change the subject with out being completely obvious. My ludicrous endeavor had worked, however, because she nodded.

"Yes. But nothing seemed amiss. It was as beautiful as before." She trailed off, her expression pensive. Her eyebrows furrowed as she seemed to be deep in thought.

"What is it?" I asked curiously.

"Nothing," she said dismissively, awakening from her trance. "We have asked someone there to help us. A guide, of sorts."

I shook my head. She shouldn't trust anyone there. Didn't she hear my warning earlier? "That is not wise! I told you, nothing and no one that comes within the realms can be trusted just now."

"This is someone we can trust," she insisted stubbornly.

"How do you know?"

"It's Pippa." Her voice sounded so small, and I suddenly realized she was talking about her friend, the one who had died.

"Miss Cross?" I exclaimed. "But I thought she was…" _Dead. _I didn't want to say this out loud, not only because it would be somewhat rude, but because her face darkened. I could see pain and guilt in her eyes, and I knew she must be missing her friend.

"Yes," she replied quietly. "So did I. But I saw her last night. She doesn't know about the Temple, but she's going to help us find it."

I stared at her. This friend of hers was not trustworthy! Why didn't she cross over? "But if she doesn't cross over, she'll become corrupted."

"She says that isn't the case."

"You cannot trust her," I argued. "She could already be corrupted." _She could hurt you._

"There's nothing strange about her at all," she protested, her face flushing angrily. "She's just as…"

"She's just as what?"

"She is the same Pippa," she whispered. "And she knows more about the realms than we do at this point. She can help us. It's more that you've given me to go on."

I paced agitatedly. She wasn't going to let go of her friend, dead or not. _So stubborn…_

"All right," I said, rubbing my chin. "Proceed carefully. But I don't like this. The Rakshana expressly warned-"

"The Rakshana have not been there, so how can they possibly know what is to be trusted?" she snapped, cutting me off. "I know nothing about your brotherhood. Why should I trust them? Why should I trust you? Honestly, you sneak into my room and hide behind my dressing screen. You follow me about. You're constantly barking orders at me: Close your mind! No, dreadfully sorry-open your mind! Help us find the Temple! Bind the magic!"

I looked at her, her red hair so mused and wild it almost seemed to be crackling from her anger. Her words were severe, yet they were somewhat accurate. Doubt about the Rakshana seeped into my mind and I quickly brushed it off. She was wrong. Of course she was wrong. She was one of them, one of the _Order_. Manipulative witches who bent humanity to their will using their magic. She was wrong.

"I only told you what I know," I replied defensively.

"Then you don't know very much, do you?" she countered, her hair crackling once again. It reminded me of a blazing fire.

"I know my brother was Rakshana. I know that he died trying to protect your mother, and that she died trying to protect you."

As soon as these words left my mouth I wished I had not spoken. She hugged herself protectively and I saw pain flit across her features. The fire was out, reduced to smoldering ash. I had mentioned her mother, her dead mother. Why had I said it? It was true, yes, but nevertheless heartless and cruel. She was missing her mother. She was missing her friend. I, however, was missing my brother. We were joined by this, in a strange sort of way.

"Don't," she muttered menacingly, her voice surprisingly strong.

"Don't what?"

"Don't change the subject. I think I shall give the orders for a while. You want me to find the Temple. I want something from you."

"Are you blackmailing me?" I asked, incredulous.

"You can call it what you like. But I won't tell you anything further until you answer my questions."

She sat on the bed closest to her and I followed suit, glaring at her defiantly. _ She had the _nerve_ to blackmail me!_

"Ask."

"I'll ask when I'm ready," she sneered.

"Very well, don't ask," I snapped, standing up.

"Tell me about the Rakshana!"

I sighed. "The Brotherhood of the Rakshana has existed for as long as the Order. They rose in the East but were joined by others along the way. Charlemagne was Rakshana, as were many of the Knights Templar. They were the guardians of the realms and its borders, sworn to protect the Order. Their emblem is the sword and the skull." This had been pounded into my brain for as long as I could remember. The Rakshana ensured that every single member of the Rakshana had the Rakshana's origin and description memorized and understood.

"That was serviceable," she said, grudgingly.

"But informative," I added, holding up a finger.

"How did you come to be part of the Rakshana?"

"I have always been with them," I said, shrugging.

"Not always, surely. You must have had a mother and a father."

"Yes. But I never really knew them. I left them when I was six." I couldn't say it didn't hurt to say this. Even though I could barely remember either of my parents, I did recall how much I had missed them. But even though I never had a mother and father to care for me, I had Amar. But not anymore.

"Oh," she said, shock visible on her features. "I am sorry."

I avoided her eyes, thinking of Amar. "There is nothing to be sorry for. It was understood that I would be trained for the Rakshana, like my brother, Amar, before me. It was a great honor for my family. I was taken into the fold and schooled in mathematics, languages, weapons, fighting. And cricket," I added, feeling my lips form a smile. "I'm quite good at cricket."

"What else?"

It felt good to tell her these things. I didn't know why, but it felt good to have someone listen, instead of being the listener, or, in my case, the abider. "I was taught how to survive in the woods. How to track things. Thievery."

She raised her eyebrows, and I explained.

"Whatever it takes to survive. One never knows when picking a man's pocket will buy a day's food or create a distraction at just the right moment."

"Didn't you miss your family terribly?" she asked softly.

"In the beginning, I looked for my mother on every street, in every market, always hoping I would see her," I whispered, my voice strangely quiet. "But I had Amar at least."

"How terrible. You had no say in it." She was pitying me. I didn't want that.

"It was my fate. I accept it. The Rakshana have been very good to me. I have trained for an elite brotherhood. What would I have done in India? Herded cows? Gone hungry? Lived in the shadow of the English, forced to smile while serving their food or grooming their horses?"

"I didn't mean to upset you…." She mumbled, her voice small. I realized my voice had had almost rose to a shout as I was speaking, trying to convince not only her, but myself, that I was not pitiable.

"You didn't upset me," I assured her quickly. "I don't think you understand how great an honor it is to be chosen for the brotherhood. Soon, I will be ready to advance to the last level of my training."

"What happens then?" she questioned curiously, cocking her head to the side. It was…endearing.

I smiled at this, I couldn't help it. "I don't know. You must swear an oath of allegiance for life. Then you are shown the eternal mysteries. No one ever speaks of it. But first, you must complete a challenge set before you, to prove your worthiness."

"What is your challenge?"

Fear gripped my heart as I understood what my challenge was. I had to kill her. In order to prove I was worthy enough for the Rakshana, I had to kill her. _Could I do that?_ "To find the Temple," I lied.

"Your fate is joined to mine," she whispered.

I was astonished as the words left her mouth; for they were exactly the same words that she had been telling me in my dreams. "Yes," I muttered. "So it would seem."

I studied her as she stood there, her long copper hair swaying as she moved, almost in a spellbinding manner. Her bright green eyes, surrounded by thick, long lashes, never seemed more alive to me. She seemed to feel my eyes on her, for she crossed her arms protectively over her robe. I could have chuckled at this, but it might give the impression that I was a bit off, laughing at nothing.

"You should go now."

"Yes. I should," I agreed hastily, leaping up from the bed. _Fool. Shouldn't have stared at her. _"May I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"Do you often talk to your mirror?" I asked slyly. "Is that something young ladies do?" I couldn't resist.

"No. Of course not," she said, her face reddening. "I was rehearsing. For a play. I-I am to perform in a chorus."

That was one of the worst lies I have ever heard. "That will certainly be a most interesting exhibition," I said, shaking my head, amused.

"I have a rather long day of traveling tomorrow and must bid you good night," she said hurriedly, still blushing slightly. "Oh, how will I contact you should I find the Temple?"

"The Rakshana have secured employment for me in London over the holiday. Somewhere close. I'll be in touch."

I turned around, unlatching the window and climbing out. The rope was easy to climb, even in the dark, and I found my way back to the forest without difficulty.

I sat on a nearby log soon once I had found my camp, poking the fire absentmindedly. What I had experienced in that small room was still drifting around my mind, poisoning my thoughts. The images of her; her wild, red golden hair, her intense, green eyes, her bare shoulders…

I knew my dreams would run rampant tonight.

I prodded the fire some more; making sure it was still burning. The flames licked the stick I was using, almost teasingly, burning the bark mercilessly.

I sighed and dropped the stick into the fire; retiring to the nest of leaves I called my bed. I closed my eyes, and visions of wild red hair and pale, smooth skin clouded my mind as I slowly drifted off into a restless sleep.

oOoOoOo

A/N: Yes folks, Kartik is indeed a regular teenage boy: extremely horny and incredibly stupid.

Just kidding Boys!

Until next time…


	3. Too Close For Comfort

Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm not Libba Bray, and believe me that's true.

A/N: Eh, I find this chapter a bit boring. But if you like it, then hurrah! The next chapter will be more interesting, promise!

Note: The following chapter occurs in Rebel Angels, pages 205-209 (hardback).

oOoOoOo

The new coachman. _Her _new coachman.

Oh yes, the Rakshana had secured employment for me indeed; as _her _new coachman!

I knew I was being unreasonable, and not to mention childish. I was extremely lucky to have a new job as a coachman; for it could have been far worse. But did it have to be _her_ coachman?

Every time she would go out-_every time_-I would be degrading myself as her coachman. Every time she would go out I would have to tolerate the constant reminder that she was far above me in social status, and that I was nothing but a lowly messenger for the Rakshana. A coachman. A thief. A murderer…

But I was also a member of the noble Brotherhood of the Rakshana, I reminded myself. And someday I would have a powerful position in the Rakshana. Someday, I would be worthy enough. That is, if I completed my task…

I shuddered at the thought as I wiped the carriage clean with a dirty rag. I stopped to dip the filthy rag into a nearby bucket of water, all the while wondering how I was going to kill her. _By sword, or by poison? Should I suffocate her, or drown her?_

I had never killed anyone before in my life, and such thoughts made me nauseous. I continued my cleaning, pushing the disturbing thoughts from my mind. I would worry about that later…

I heard the sound of a clearing throat, and I sharply turned around to see who had made the sound. It was her. _Speak of the devil…_

Nevertheless I found my mood improving as I saw her. And I could feel my face form a grin, despite my mortifying encounter with her last time we met. And, regardless of my own feelings toward my new job, I was very curious as to how she would react to this new development.

"How do you do?" she said formally, and I assumed that she was using this tone because of the nearby groom. Who, incidentally, was watching us…I thought it best get rid of him.

"Good evening, miss," I said formally, almost teasingly. "Willie!"

Willie, the groom who was spying on us, answered me at once. "Yes, Mr. Kartik?"

"Be a good lad and stretch Ginger's legs, will you?"

He obeyed reluctantly, leading Ginger from the horse stable.

Once he was gone I asked "What do you think of my new suit?" I hoped she was impressed; I even had to oil my hair down, a rather messy and tedious business.

She ignored this, however, getting right to the point. "Don't you think it's rather bold of you to take a job as our coachman?"

It wasn't my fault; I wouldn't have chosen it as my new occupation. "I said that I would be close."

"So you did. How ever did you arrange it?"

_So she assumes _I _arranged this._ _Think again. _"The Rakshana have their ways." _They also _get_ their way. Or else._

There were a few minutes of an awkward silence between us. I was completely at a loss of what to say. She looked very beautiful, standing there in the moonlight, in her crimson dinner dress. She bit her lip, a habit I noticed she did when she was nervous.

"Well," she said uncomfortably.

"Well," I parroted.

"Here we are."

"Yes. It was good of you to come see me. You look well." _You look more than that…_

"I've brought your supper," she responded, offering me a plate of food.

"Thank you." I pulled out a stool for her and removed my book,_ The Odyssey_, from it. "I suppose Emily isn't coming, then." It was the only thing I could think to say.

"Who is Emily?"

"The maid. She was to bring my dinner. She seems a most congenial girl." That much was true, but although Emily was kind, she was also rather talkative and tactless, character traits I could do without.

"And you have decided her character after knowing her but a day," she questioned stiffly. My ears perked up at this; was that a hint of jealousy I heard in her voice?

_Don't be a fool, Kartik,_ I told myself. I was being immature. "Yes," I replied simply. She probably didn't want her maid associating with a thief such as myself.

"Have you any news about the Temple?" I inquired, absentmindedly peeling an orange Emily had given me.

"We visited a place today called the Forest of Lights. I met a creature called Philon. It did not know where to find the Temple, but it offered help."

"What sort of help?" This didn't sound so good…

"Weapons."

My blood went cold at this as I realized that the beast somehow knew that she might need them. Needless to say, this frightened me. "It felt you would need them?"

"Yes. Philon gave us magic arrows. I'm useless with them, but Feli-Miss Worthington is rather skilled. She-"

"What did it ask in return?" I asked sharply, cutting her off.

"A share of the magic when we find the Temple," she replied uneasily.

"You refused, of course." _Please say yes..._

She did not answer, however, and I threw my orange onto my plate, disgusted. Of course she did, the dignified, stuck-up little…

The Rakshana would not be pleased with this. "You made an alliance with the creatures from the realms?" _Does this girl ever listen?_ _I told her not to trust _anything

"I didn't say that!" she snapped. "If I'm not doing this to your liking, why don't you go?"

"You know we cannot enter the realms."

"So then I suppose you will have to trust that I am doing all I can," she sniffed.

_I do._ "I trust you."

She didn't answer, but only gave me a surprised glance. I could hear the creatures of the night around us, insects, frogs, and even an owl or two. But despite these noises the silence once again between her and I was deafening.

"Did you know that the Rakshana and the Order were once lovers?" she asked suddenly.

"No, I didn't," I said, genuinely surprised. "How…interesting." I wasn't sure of what to make of this.

"Yes. It is."

I offered her a piece of my orange, and she accepted, mumbling a thank you and placing it on her tongue.

"You're welcome," I replied, smiling as I saw her lips pucker around the orange. I sat silent for a moment, and my thoughts wandered over to Amar. I often wondered if she had ever seen Amar there, if he'd crossed over or not. But I was hesitant to ask her, for I found myself afraid that I might be showing weakness. Nevertheless, I had to know. I took a deep breath and began my question. "Do you ever…" I trailed off, suddenly afraid of the answer.

"What?"

What if he was still there, and had become one of the wicked spirits that now plagued the realms? She stared at me, waiting for an answer. _I have to know…_

"I wondered if you have ever seen Amar there in the realms?" I held my breath, waiting.

"No, I've never seen him."

I exhaled with relief. _He was alright…_"He must have already crossed over then, don't you think?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

I was suddenly curious as I contemplated the realms and their mysterious ways, and, swept up in my bravery, I asked, "What are the realms like?"

She stared at the ground, her eyes suddenly glazed over, and she seemed to consider the question carefully before answering. "Some of it is beautiful. So beautiful you don't ever want to leave it. In the garden, you can turn stones to butterflies or have a gown of silver thread that sings or…or whatever you wish."

I smiled. _Whatever I wished…_

I watched her as she looked off into the distance; her golden red curls gently sweeping about her face as the wind breezed by, her eyes still alight with the excitement she seemed to have when she talked about the realms.

"Go on," I said.

"There is a ship," she continued. "Like a Viking vessel, with a gorgon's head attached. She took us through a wall of golden water that left sparkles of gold all over our skin."

"Like the gold in you hair?" I blurted unthinkingly. I felt my face flush and I cursed myself for blurting out such ridiculous things.

"Much finer," she said, blushing slightly. "There are some parts that are not as nice. Strange creatures-horrid things. I suppose that's why I must bind the magic, so that they cannot wield it."

"Yes," I said, my heart sinking. "I suppose so." I was once again reminded of what I was to do once she had bound the magic. If only there was a way for her to hide…

Comprehension hit me as I realized: the Rakshana could not enter the realms! That meant that I, Kartik, member of the Rakshana, could not go after her and murder her if she stayed there, in the realms! "Miss Doyle?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think-that is, what if you were to stay there, in the realms once you'd found the Temple?"

"What do you mean?" she questioned, her eyebrows furrowing.

I rubbed the orange juice off my fingers, stalling. What was I going to tell her?

"It seems like a very fine place to hide."

"That's an odd thing to say," she said, casting me a strange look.

_Fool. _"I meant live," I said quickly, trying to cover up my slip-up. "A fine place to live, don't you think?" My tongue was betraying me mercilessly tonight.

The yellow light of a lantern invaded the darkness and I looked up to see Emily, her expression incredulous. "Beggin' your pardon, miss. I forgot to bring Mr. Kartik his coffee."

"I was just leaving," she said, jumping to her feet as if something had burned her. "Thank you for that, um, most, most informative, ah, instruction in…in…"

"Carriage safety?" I suggested.

"Yes. One cannot be too careful about such things. Good night to you."

"Good night."

She turned and strode toward the house, leaving me with Emily. _Blast, I hope she didn't hear anything…_

"Good evening," I told her weakly.

Emily giggled girlishly as she sat down on the stool, previously occupied by _her_.

"Er, how are you?" I asked uncomfortably.

She giggled harder.

I sighed. "Doing well, I see."

She stopped laughing, by way of stuffing her fist into her mouth.

"I am sorry, Mr. Kartik" she said breathlessly. "I had just…just heard something rather amusing earlier. How are you?"

"I am well," I replied.

"That's wonderful," Emily said, beaming at me.

"Yes, it is."

Emily giggled at this, and I had the peculiar feeling that I was being laughed at.

She offered me a cup of bitter coffee, laughing all the while. I accepted and asked her about her day, immediately regretting my decision moments later.

I sighed as Emily droned on about her daily routine. It would be a long night.

oOoOoOo

A/N: Of course I just _had_ to make Emily a giggling idiot. Sorry if you like her, she's a bimbo now!

Anyway, back to business: review, review, review!


	4. Simon Muddleton

Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fic except Kartik's point of view. Which makes me very sad. Ah well.

A/N: I think I captured Kartik's jealously well enough. Tell me if you like it!

Note: The following chapter occurs in Rebel Angels, pages 213-229 (hardback).

oOoOoOo

The fierce cold that was once present as I drove the coach was now stagnate in the air, but it still froze the very marrow of my bones.

I crossed my arms, trying to warm myself with the little body heat that my thin jacket held as I stood by the carriage. I looked up through the hazy darkness and saw the imposing silhouette of Denby; Simon Middleton's mansion.

"Simon Middleton." That name brought forth a sour taste in my mouth as I muttered it hatefully. I had learned of this illustrious boy from Emily and the cook. He, apparently, was a very rich boy of nineteen, son of the viscount, and confident in his gentlemanly manner and behavior.

I could tell he was a lady's man, for as Emily spoke of his handsome features, numerous accomplishments, and charming demeanor her eyes glazed over and she looked past me with a faraway expression on her face.

I asked one of the stable boys about him, and he said the same, but only that our mistress Gemma Doyle was acquainted with this young gentleman.

"'E met 'er at the train station, 'e did," nodded the stable boy. "They became real friendly, 'at much Oi know."

It amazed me how much the servants, maids, and grooms could discover while they performed their various occupations. But I had little time to marvel at the amount of gossip the Help could learn. I had other matters to consider, like the fact that _she_ knew _him_.

I mulled over this information, and the more I thought about it, the more worried I became until I was sure that this _Simon Middleton_ had some sort of interest in her. How could he not?

But I had no evidence that Simon Middleton _was _indeed smitten with her. I just _knew_ it. Though, I hadn't even met the chap so I couldn't be sure.

My suspicions were confirmed, however, when I received notice that the Doyle family were invited to Denby, home of Simon Middleton. I was to be their coachman, and drive them there.

I recalled the moment she stepped out of the carriage, her pale blue gown, her curls swept into an elegant bun, her diplomatic demeanor, her soft green eyes…

She tripped on her gown and fell into my arms, and for a second, one mere second, I held her round her thin waist, could smell jasmine, and relished the feel of her warm body against mine.

I remembered letting her go, albeit reluctantly, and helping her to her feet.

"Steady there, Miss Doyle."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Kartik." And with those words, her father took her arm and steered her toward the door, to Simon Middleton.

Long after they had gone inside I was still gazing at the door, my breath coming out in shallow puffs of cold vapor. I was outside in the cold while she was inside, no doubt warm and cozy with Simon Middleton.

_How it should be,_ I reminded myself.

oOoOoOo

As the night wore on I found myself staring at the large window of the upper floor, in the very middle. It was, noticeably, the biggest window, and the focal point of the house. That came to be an advantage for me, for as I stared I could see blurry figures of people puttering about the room, probably the library, and I knew she would be in there.

It never occurred to me that what I was doing was spying, but as I drew closer to the window, I convinced myself I was only curious to see what they were doing. Which was, in truth, spying. But it never entered my mind. That is, until she came close to the window, with Simon Middleton at her heels.

I watched their vague profiles through the glass, and I could see them facing each other, talking. _Well, this is innocent enough,_ I convinced myself. But I quickly changed my mind as I saw Simon Middleton extend a hand to her red curls, reaching to secure the rose pinned to her hair just as she was. I drew closer as their fingers touched, and she looked away, a faint blush on her cheeks.

Jealousy coursed through my veins as I watched him fasten the rose to her hair, feeling the red curls in his fingers that I could only imagine felt soft and silky in one's hands. How I ached to feel them, to feel her…

I felt my face flush with fury and, without thinking; I picked up a rock from the ground and hurled it at the window with all my might. I threw another and I heard that it only made a tap, but that was enough.

Simon Middleton opened the window and the two peered out. I dove behind a nearby bush, lest they saw me in the misty darkness.

After a while they departed from the window's edge, and I was left to seethe in my anger at that _boy's _insolence and _her_ consent.

Well after midnight the Doyle family said their goodbyes, and I glared at _her _murderously from under my cap as she approached.

"A pleasant evening, miss?" I asked with forced politeness as I helped her into the carriage.

"Yes," she said, flashing me a quick smile. "Very pleasant, thank you."

"So I noted," I muttered bitterly.

I swiftly swung myself onto the carriage seat and grabbed the horse's reins, pulling away from the curb with much more force than was necessary.

And as I drove the carriage I came to realize that though the cold wind blew against my face in such a way that would freeze any normal man, my insides were roiling with scorching fury that kept me sweltering inside my jacket.

oOoOoOo

I sat in the musty stable, a dim lantern hanging above me as I read _The Odyssey_ to Emily. She listened, enthralled with the story as I went on, describing the sea voyages and the obstacles that followed.

The crunch of footsteps interrupted me and I stopped, peering into the eerie darkness though the open doorway.

It was her.

"Good evening," she said, marching in confidently as if it was nothing abnormal to be striding into one's stable in the dead of night.

"Good evening," I replied, standing up.

Emily looked up in alarm, stumbling over her words which so often flowed endlessly out of her mouth without fault. "Oh, miss, I was just…just…"

"Emily, I have some business to discuss with Mr. Kartik just now, if you wouldn't mind."

Emily shot up as if burned, and scurried out of the stable, leaving me alone with her.

Once Emily was a good ways away, she turned to me and got straight to the point. "What did you mean by your comment tonight?"

I smirked. "I simply asked if you had a pleasant evening. With Mr. Muddleton."

"Middleton," she corrected sharply. "He is a gentleman, you know."

I could feel my blood rush to my face and I balled my fists. "He looks like a fop."

"I'll thank you not to insult him," she hissed, her face flushing to a delicate pink. "You know nothing about him."

"I don't like the way he looks at you," I countered before I could stop myself. "As if you were a piece of ripe fruit."

"He doesn't do anything of the sort," she snarled, blushing even more so before her face lit up in realization. "Wait a moment. How do you know how he looks at me? Were you spying on me?"

I shoved my book under my nose, trying to hide my anger at myself. How could I have allowed myself to make such a slip? Such displays of idiocy would not be tolerated in the Rakshana. "He did look at you that way. In the library."

She drew herself up to her full height, which was, fortunately, still shorter than myself. "You threw those rocks against the window!"

Unable to control my rage, I hurled my book aside, facing her. Why couldn't she understand what _Simon Middleton_ was capable of? "You allowed him to touch your hair!" _Something I've always wanted to do…_

"I do have something to tell you, if you can stop feeling sorry for yourself long enough to hear it."

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself," I scoffed.

"A good night to you, then," she said, turning to the exit.

I almost let out a growl as I realized I would much rather be on good terms with this fiery girl. "Wait!" I took a step after her, truly not wishing her to leave. "I'm sorry. I promise to be on my very best behavior." I dropped to my knees dramatically, picking up an acorn from the ground and holding to my neck. "I beg of you, Miss Doyle. Tell me or I shall be forced to kill myself with this mighty weapon."

"Oh, do get up," she said, letting out a tinkling laugh. "Tom has a patient at Bethlem. Nell Hawkins. He says she suffers from delusions."

"That would explain her confinement in Bethlem," I said, casting her a self-satisfied grin. She frowned, raising her eyebrows. "Sorry. Please go on."

"She claims she's a member of the Order, and that a woman named Circe is trying to find her. She says she's driven herself mad to keep Circe from getting to her."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "You must see Nell Hawkins straightaway."

"Yes, I've arranged it already. Tomorrow, around noon, I shall read poetry to Nell Hawkins and find out what she knows about the Temple. Was he really looking at me that way?"

I blinked, surprised at the sudden change of subject. "What way?"

"Like a piece of ripe fruit?"

"You'd best be on your guard with him," I growled. _Simon Muddleton_. What a fool he must be. I didn't trust him one bit.

"I am quite able to look after myself," she admonished, turning smartly on her heel and smacking directly into the wall.

oOoOoOo

A/N: Hahaha, I love that last part. Libba Bray must have a great sense of humor.

This chapter's a bit short, but I like it anyhow.

Until next time!


	5. Danger

Disclaimer: Read one paragraph of this and I swear you'll know that I didn't write Rebel Angels.

A/N: I know, I'm soooooo sorry I didn't update sooner. Please, please, please forgive meeee. Turns out I actually have a life to deal with, imagine that!

Note: The following chapter occurs in Rebel Angels, pages 301-308 (hardback).

oOoOoOo

"Am I in danger?" she whispered nervously as I led her through the dark and crude tavern.

"Not anymore than I am," I assured her. "Just go about your business and don't look at anyone and you will be fine."

She cast me a frightened glance, but didn't argue. I could see why she was scared. The place would be startling and absolutely terrifying for anyone who didn't come here often; especially a young woman who is not accustomed to such vulgarity.

I lead her to a table in the back where she would be nearly hidden to all other inhabitants. The ceiling, low and beamed, obstructed almost every light in the tavern, casting a soft darkness over the table.

I started to walk away but she stopped me, yelping frantically, "Where are you going?"

"Shhhh!" I hushed, pressing my finger to my lips. "I shall surprise you."

She folded her hands and gripped them so hard that her knuckles turned white. I dashed behind the counter, grabbing a plate of food off the counter and tossing a couple shillings on the rough surface. Then, returning to the table, I set the plate in front of her, allowing one small smile to form on my face.

Her striking green eyes lit up instantly as she spied the Dosa, as I knew they would. She eagerly bit into the food, closing her eyes to savor the taste.

"This is delicious!" she exclaimed, taking another bite. "How do you know of this place?"

I took my seat. "Amar told me of it. The man who owns it is from Calcutta. You see that curtain there?" I gestured to the tapestry hanging on the wall. "There is a door behind it. It's a hidden room. If you should ever need me…"

She threw me a small smile. "Thank you." She turned to gaze at the tapestry. "Do you ever miss India?"

"My family is the Rakshana," I said, shrugging. "They discouraged loyalty to any other country or customs."

"But don't you remember how beautiful the ghats looked at dusk, or the flower offerings floating on the water?"

I did. "You sound like Amar." I averted my eyes from her face and took one of the Dosa, nibbling on it.

"What do you mean?"

I swallowed. "He longed for India sometimes. He would joke with me. 'Little brother,' he would say, 'I'm going to retire to Benares with a fat wife and twelve children to bother me. And when I die, you can throw my ashes into the Ganges so I will never come back.'"

I chanced a glance at her, and I could see that she was gazing at me with sad eyes. _Sympathy_. That was not what I wanted. I swallowed again.

"And did he…marry?"

"No. Rakshana are forbidden to marry. It is a distraction from our purpose."

"Oh. I see."

"Once you've sworn an oath to the Rakshana, you are committed for life. There is no leaving. Amar knew this. He honored his duty."

"Was he very high in the ranks?"

An icy coldness gripped my insides as I croaked, "No. But he might have been if…" _If he had lived…_

I felt my throat begin to constrict and I pushed my plate away from me, knowing that I would not be able to eat if I wanted to. "What is it you needed to tell me?"

"I think Miss McCleethy is Circe," she said grimly. She continued, telling me about the anagram and her trip to Bedlam, about her visit with the Hawkins girl and her mother's newspaper clippings. "Miss Hawkins said that Circe tried to enter the realms through her but they couldn't do it. Nell could only see it in her mind. And when she couldn't…" She trailed off.

"When she couldn't?" I prompted, not letting the stab of mild surprise I felt show on my face.

"I don't know. I've seen glimpse of it in my visions."

I shot her a warning look. Her visions were not reliable, as they've come from the realms. _Surely,_ I thought, exasperated, _she would realize this by now?_

"I know what you are about to say," she said, glaring at me, "but I keep seeing these three girls in white who were friends of Miss Hawkins's. It is the same vision, but a little clearer each time. The girls, the sea, and the woman in the green cloak. Circe. And then…I don't know. Something terrible happens. But I can never see that part."

I drummed my thumb against the table, deep in thought. Who were these mysterious girls and what did they have to do with Circe? And what was the terrible thing that happened?

_It must have been cause by Circe,_ I decided. _That is the only logical explanation…but what was it?_

"Did she tell you where to find the Temple?" I asked finally, referring to the Hawkins girl.

"No. She keeps repeating seeing the true path."

"I know you are fond of Miss Hawkins," I said carefully, hesitating slightly, "but you must remember that her mind is not reliable."

"A bit like the magic and the realms just now," she countered, idly playing with her gloves. "I don't know where to begin. It feels impossible. I'm to find something that doesn't seem to exist, and the closest I've gotten is a lunatic at Bedlam who keeps nattering on about 'stick to the path; follow the path.' I would be overjoyed to stick to a bloody path if I knew where it was."

I felt my mouth drop open and I gaped at her, shocked at her sudden harsh language.

She blushed a deep crimson, a horrified expression materializing on her face. "Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry."

"You bloody well should be," I told her, laughing loudly.

She shushed me hurriedly and I quieted, beaming at her. She grinned back, and I felt my smile widen.

"I am sorry," she added, still smiling. "It's just that I am so vexed."

"I can see that, "I said, pointing to her amulet. "What happened here?"

"Oh," she said, removing it from her smooth neck. "That wasn't me. That was Miss Hawkins. The first time I visited her, she pulled it from my neck. I thought she meant to do me in. But she held it in front of her like this." She held the amulet in front of her, as if defending herself from some unknown evil.

"Like a weapon?" I asked, taking the amulet and swiping it though the air, as I would a sword or a dagger.

"No. She cradled it like this." She took the amulet from me and held it against her breast, moving it from side to side. "She kept peering at the back of it as if she were looking for something."

I stared at the amulet; there was something in the back of my mind that troubled me when I looked at it. I let my thoughts wander freely for a moment, searching my subconscious. For some reason, the way she held the thing reminded me very much of my book, _The Odyssey_…I remembered the ships, the billowing sails, and…I pictured in my mind the hero, Odysseus, clutching a compass to his chest…a compass! That was it! The way she was holding the amulet reminded me of a compass!

I sat up at once. "Do that again."

She obliged, her eyebrows furrowing as she calculated my expression. "What? What are you thinking?"

I slumped back into my chair, bewildered. "I don't know. It's just that what you're doing rather reminds me of a compass."

Her eyes lit up and she quickly brought the amulet close to her chest, examining it carefully.

"Do you see anything?" I asked, scooting my chair closer to hers, closer than I had meant to. I could smell her perfume; feel the warmth of her body nearly against mine, nearly. _Just a little closer…_

"Nothing," she said, obviously disappointed, lips pouting ever so slightly, lips begging to be kissed…

Trying not to stare at her mouth, I diverted my attention to my hands. "Well, it was a good thought." _And not only about the amulet, either._

"Hold on, what if we can only see it in the realms?"

Looking back at her sharply, I realized that she was probably right. I nearly slapped my forehead. _Of course! _Such an intelligent girl.

"Will you try it?"

"As soon as I can."

_The sooner the better…I think._

"Good show, Miss Doyle," I said cheerfully, masking my troubled thoughts with a grin. "Let's get you home before I'm out of a job."

She stood up, nodding in agreement. I ushered her out of the tavern, and back through the twisting streets that led to the carriage we arrived in. I daydreamed idly as I walked; thoughts of jasmine and ocean waves swimming through my mind. However, it wasn't until she lightly touched my shoulder that I looked up and immediately saw that something was wrong.

The little boy that I paid to watch the carriage was no longer there, but instead, three large men stood outside the carriage, two of the bunch each gripping a stick menacingly. The men were wearing the same black suits, and I realized instantly who they were. Fear gripped my heart, my throat tightened…these men were from the Rakshana. The men from the Covent Garden, the men who instructed me to kill _her._

I held out a hand to stop her from going any father. The men whistled at me teasingly, motioning for me to approach.

"The Eastern Star is hard to find," said the man with the wicked scar across his cheek. "Very hard to find."

I didn't answer.

"'Ello, mate," rumbled one of the men holding a stick, one of the Scar-Man's goons. "Remember me?" He smacked his stick against the palm of his hand.

I rubbed the back of my head, recalling with pain the blow he dealt me back in the Covent Gardens.

"Mr. Fowlson 'ere requires your presence at a business mee'in' of sorts by the lady's carriage." The man grabbed my jacket, roughly pulling me forward. I glanced at her worriedly as the other goon seized her arm, also dragging her along. I felt a dim rage arise behind my growing fear. These men were dangerous, and I knew well not to disobey them, but did they have to handle her like that? She was a lady!

"Fowlson," she proclaimed bravely. "So you have a name."

I wished desperately that she would say no more, for surely they would punish her for her defiance, that rebelliousness that was always there behind her innocent eyes and her pretty curls.

I noticed that Fowlson scowled angrily at the burly man for saying his name.

"There's no need for pretense," she continued boldly, "I know that you are Rakshana. And I'll thank you to stop following me about."

My alarm for her increased tremendously as I saw the dangerous glare Fowlson sent her. Had this girl any shame or humility? Or common sense? _This man is capable of harming her, doesn't she realize this?_

"And I know you are an impertinent girl with no regard for the seriousness of the business before you," snarled Fowlson, "else you should be in the realms searching for the Temple rather than dallying about London's seamier streets. Surely the Temple is not here. Or is it? Tell me, just where did this one take you?"

I held my breath, hoping desperately that she would not reveal the whereabouts of my hiding place. The only place that I was not being watched. _Please don't say anything…_

"Sightseeing," she said finally, expression unfaltering. "I wished to see these slums for myself."

I sighed with relief.

One of the men scoffed.

"I assure you, sir," she persisted, staring at Fowlson coldly. "I am in earnest about my duty."

"Are we, now, lass? The task is simple: Find the Temple and bind the magic."

"If it is so simple a matter, why don't you do it?" she replied crossly. "But no; you can't. So you will have to rely on me, and 'impertinent girl', won't you?"

Fowlson pursed his lips tightly, appearing as though he had just swallowed a lemon whole. My fear was heightened slightly, but it was all I could do to repress my laughter once I saw the look on Fowlson's face. Classic.

"For the present," sneered Fowlson, "it would seem so." He turned to me, casting me an evil smile. "Do not forget _your _task, novitiate."

I froze, afraid to turn and look at her, to see her reaction. Panic flooded my veins, and I could scarcely breathe. _You bastard,_ I thought furiously.

Fowlson grinned triumphantly, motioning for his men to follow him as he disappeared around a corner.

Once I sure they were gone, I hurriedly ushered her into the carriage, hoping in vain that she somehow lost her hearing and did not catch that last thing Fowlson had uttered. But of course, she had heard it and was full of irritating questions, that I knew for sure.

"What did he mean, do not forget _your_ task?" she asked, sure enough, confirming my fear.

"I told you," I said, taking care not to catch her eye. "My task is to help you find the Temple. That is all. What did _you_ mean when you asked Fowlson to stop following you about?"

It was an incredibly stupid way of diverting her attention, but I hoped that it would work.

"He _has_ been following me!" she cried indignantly, raising an eyebrow. "He was at the train station the day I arrived in London. And when I was out walking in Hyde Park with Grandmama, he rode by in a carriage. And I saw a woman in a green cloak with him, Kartik. A green cloak!"

"There are plenty of green cloaks in London, Miss Doyle," I told her, very glad of the change of subject. "They do not all belong to Circe."

"No. But one does. I am only asking if you are certain that Mr. Fowlson can be trusted?"

"He is one of the Rakshana, part of my brotherhood," I said confidently. "Yes. I am certain." _Or am I?_ _Can the bastard really be trusted?_

oOoOoOo

A/N: Yeah, this chapter sucks, I know. It was a bit rushed, and the chapter in the book was a weird one. For this particular chapter it was extremely difficult to add any more description other than what Libba Bray wrote.

Plus, I didn't add a lot of hormonally-influenced thoughts on Kartik's part because this chapter really wasn't meant for building Kartik and Gemma's relationship; it was just necessary for the plot. I promise the next chapter will be really, really, mushy gushy, lovey. Or at least, Kartik will be very lonely and horny, and we all know what that means…!

So review, por favor!


	6. Gemma

Disclaimer: If I had written Rebel Angels, I would have made like 283876349938 million dollars, and I would be shamelessly flaunting and spending my money instead of sitting here trying to appease my fellow fanfiction-readers.

A/N: Yeah, I made this chapter up. Pretty creative, eh?

Anyway it's a quickie, and a bit of time passes from the last chapter, so Kartik isn't dwelling on the things he previously dwelled upon. In the previous chapter. He's back to being jealous and horny. Because I'm lazy.

oOoOoOo

I shuffled my way across the snowy park, gazing absentmindedly at the naked tress as I passed by.

It was Saturday afternoon and I had the day off. The Doyle Family had no where to go at the moment, and I intended to pass the time anywhere, _anywhere_ but the Doyle Manor and their fancy silverware and social parties. Where _she _would dress up in her pretty little outfits and flirt with her handsome escort, Simon Middleton. Anywhere, anywhere but there.

Though, truth be told, I had no where to go. I had little money and all the time in the world to stand out in the frosty weather. My hands were nearly frozen, and I irritably stuffed them in the pockets of my dingy jacket as I thought angrily about the couple. For _surely_ they were a couple. Simon Middleton was rich, handsome, and high in social status. What more could the girl possibly want?

And I saw the way he looked at her, the way his eyes lit up as he took in her image, her beautiful copper locks, and her deep green eyes. He would take her arm, gently pressing his own body against hers. Their bodies would mold, fit perfectly together, like two puzzle pieces. She would look up at him and smile, lips curling ever so delicately, eyes dancing. He would grin down at her, snake his arm around her small waist, lean forward…

I blinked furiously. The thought was more than I could bear.

I continued walking toward nowhere, my eyes blind to everything but the images I envisioned in my mind's eyes.

Why was I cursed with such thoughts, such misery, such…jealousy? Was I jealous of Simon _Muddleton_ because he had _her_ in his clutches? Never, I couldn't be…

But the more I denied it, the more it seemed to make sense. The anger, the reluctance, the way I waited for her every night, hoping that she would come down to the stables and talk with me, visit me, let me see her face…

But she and I could never be together. It would be an absolute scandal, positively absurd! The wealthy, proper Gemma Doyle running off with some coachman, a boy who owned nothing.

The thought excited me even as I knew the improbability of it. But there was also the Rakshana, always the Rakshana, watching, waiting…

I was going to murder her, Gemma Doyle. She was going to be dead soon, because of me. Because of the Rakshana.

I felt my stomach twist unpleasantly, and I quickly stopped my brisk walk, leaning against a nearby tree to support myself as a wave of nausea came over me.

Tangled red hair, blank green eyes, blood. Blood everywhere, my hands, her throat. So much blood, where on _earth _had it come from? _From her._ The crimson, sticky substance dripping off my fingers, my clothes, her lips. Lips that could say nothing, hands that could do nothing, eyes that stared. _Stared at me._ What have I done? _What have I done?_

Heart breaking, no reason to live, no reason to breathe, no reason…

Closing my eyes, I moved away from the tree, swaying slightly. I couldn't do it. I could never kill her. Never kill Gemma.

_Gemma._

When had I ever thought of her as Gemma? Only, _her, she, Miss Doyle_.

"_Gemma."_ It felt so good to say.

"_Gemma." _My mouth forming the word, the syllables sounding so natural to my ears.

_Gemma, Gemma, Gemma._

I opened my eyes and looked up at the tree. The gnarled trunk was huge, and the tree's many branches twisted and curved every which way around each other, reaching up to touch the heavens. I laid a hand on the cold trunk, the smooth contours of the bark grazing against my dry fingers.

_Gemma._ I can't kill her. _Gemma._ I won't kill her. _Gemma. _I think I must love you.

I jolted away from the tree, heart beating rapidly. _Love._ I must love her. _Do I?_ Do I love Gemma Doyle, keeper of the realms, child of the Order, girl I was instructed to murder?

_Yes._ In a way I knew I always have. Ever since that fateful day, the day Amar died. But I knew it only subconsciously, and even then when I realized it finally, I was still in shock, amazed.

_Of course._

Her smile, her laugh, her quick temper. I loved it all. I loved _her. _I loved _Gemma_.

_But how will I tell her? And will I ever tell her?_

I knew she had the right to know, but my insides coiled unpleasantly at the thought, the probability, of rejection.

Rejection I was bound to receive. For what could she possibly see in me; a bossy, pitiable orphan boy? But she had to know.

She had to. I had to tell her, but _how?_

I could write a letter…or maybe let her know in some other cryptic way. But I quickly eliminated that possibility. _I must tell her in person, see her face, feel her hair. _That's what I would do.

I reached my hand into my pockets, fishing around until I had finally found a crumpled piece of paper within the mass of useless trash I had earlier stuffed inside of them. I sat down, trying to flatten the paper on my knee, and then, pulling out a bit of sharpened charcoal, I scribbled down a quick note;

_There's something I need to tell you. I'll be in the stables._

I stuffed it back into my jacket, sighing slightly. _I shall tell her of my love for her, certainly, but should I tell her everything? About the Rakshana, my mission?_

Maybe. I'd debate that on the way. I had more important matters to attend to.

oOoOoOo

A/N: Yes, Kartik is unusually quick to realize his love for Gemma. And the fact that he can now pronounce her name. Congratulations, Kartik! You were always a smart fellow.


	7. Merry Christmas, Miss Doyle

Disclaimer: You know how people have really creative and funny disclaimers? Well mine is not one of them. I DO NOT OWN REBEL ANGELS AND I AM NOT LIBBA BRAY.

A/N: I really loved the kissing scene in the book; I hope this will do it justice!

oOoOoOo

My infernal self-doubt had been eating away at my insides by the time I carefully placed the message on Gemma's pillow. Once I reached the stables, I knew there was no going back.

In the face of an almost certain rejection, I nearly regretted my set-in-stone decision to tell her that I loved her, but I reminded myself that it was an unforgivable thing to ignore. I could never go on without telling her. Never.

However, most of my previous confidence (and all of my fears, as well), returned to me immediately once I saw Gemma again. She was going to the opera. With who she would be spending her time with, I was not sure. Be it Muddleton, her family, or her collection interfering friends, I was infinitely envious that it wasn't me who she was to spend the evening with.

The new, or increased, I should say, feelings were rather disconcerting, for now not only was I daydreaming incessantly about Gemma, but the air around me seemed to grow quite a bit warmer when I thought of her. My heart would beat rapidly, my breath a little quicker. Hopeless. I was hopeless.

Such was the case when I was to drive Gemma and her family to the opera house.

She came towards the carriage, and as I caught sight of her, my heart skipped a beat.

_Beautiful, elegant, dazzling._ These words could not _express _the splendor that was _Gemma._

She was dressed in a white, satin gown that made her look delicate and innocent. Charming gloves covered her hands and her copper hair was swept up in an elegant bun, while tendrils of golden curls graced her forehead.

I knew I was staring. I knew I should stop. But I couldn't. Gemma seemed to be floating as she walked, I watched her, entranced. She was an angel, a fallen angel. Innocent beauty shielded the fiery spirit I knew she possessed.

My dreams were cut short, however, by her hurried brother, but as I drove the carriage I knew that I had to tell Gemma, I couldn't let this go.

The little side trip we took when we were tracking down her father further deepened my respect for her, though terrifying the journey was. She did not lack bravery and courage, even when we reached the carriage and she broke down in tears.

Shimmering tears trickled down her chin, her misery somehow making her seem more beautiful than ever, despite her brother's ill-fitting clothes.

"Gemma?" I remember saying, wanting to comfort her.

"Don't…look…at…me," she had sobbed, turning her face away. "It is all…so…horrible…and it's…my fault."

"It is not your fault," I argued feebly.

"Yes, yes it is!" She faced me again, eyes shining, melancholy face a perfect mirror of deepest grief. "If I hadn't been who I am, Mother wouldn't have died. He never would have been like this! I ruined his happiness! And…"

"And…?"

"I used the magic to try to cure him." She averted her eyes from me, as if embarrassed. "I couldn't bear to see him suffer so. What is the good of all this power if I can do nothing with it?"

Fresh tears ran down Gemma's cheeks, and my heart melted. I wished I could somehow ease her pain, though I knew it was impossible. She was the Chosen One, the one who would find the temple, defeat Circe, and live out her destiny…

I could not stand her sorrow any longer, and I wiped the tears from her face, tenderly, Gemma surprised.

"_Meraa mitra yahaan aaiye."_ Come here, my friend. "I have never known a braver girl."

And that was true.

oOoOoOo

I was awake, but still drowsy, sitting in the stables, examining my shoes. I was ready to tell Gemma, and I meant to tell her today, whether she came down to see me or not.

I had hoped desperately that she would come visit me, since it was Christmas, or that she didn't forget my note. _In all likelihood, she won't come,_ I tried to convince myself, not prepared just yet for disappointment. But I knew not of what to expect from her. Gemma was unpredictable. I loved that. But it unnerved me, all the same.

Suddenly, a noise woke me from my dream-like state, and I looked up to see Gemma, and all my troubles were, for the moment, forgotten.

That is, except for one, minor trouble.

"I've come to apologize for last night," said Gemma solemnly. "And to thank you for helping him."

"Everyone needs help sometimes."

"Except for you." _How would you know that, Gemma?_

I decided not to answer. Instead, I handed her my Christmas present to her, Amar's old knife. "Merry Christmas, Miss Doyle."

She looked shocked. "What is this?"

"Open it."

As Gemma carefully unwrapped it, I watched with baited breath. Inside was a small knife, the handle carved into a small totem. The protection symbol.

"Megh Sambara," I told her, examining her face for any sign of emotion. None yet. "The Hindus believe that he offers protection against enemies."

"I thought you had no loyalty to any customs other than the Rakshana's," teased Gemma, smiling lightly.

I looked down, uncomfortable, shoving my hands into my pockets. I couldn't look her in the eye. "It was Amar's."

"You shouldn't part with it, then," said Gemma seriously, thrusting it at my chest.

I dodged the blade, saying quickly, "Careful." I stared the knife. "It is small but sharp. And you may have need of it."

I was suddenly reminded of my ugly task, the one I would never do. Kill Gemma. She would have needed that knife against me. Would it be sufficient enough for another attack such as the one I was to make?

She smiled shyly, withdrawing her hand and the knife along with it. "I shall keep it with me. Thank you."

A moment's silence seemed like an eternity. I must tell her now, or show her. But how?

Silence again. I dug my foot into the earthy ground, the rocks crunching noisily under my shoe. Still more quiet. I ran out of things to say but I didn't want her to leave.

Search for a subject, anything to say, must start talking…

"Tonight is Miss Worthington's Christmas ball, yes?" I asked Gemma, heart beating a little faster.

"Yes."

I looked away. "What do you do at these balls?" I questioned awkwardly.

"Oh. There is a great deal of smiling and talking of the weather and how lovely everyone looks," she said dully. "There is a light supper and refreshments. And the dancing, of course."

_Dancing?_ "I've never been to a ball. I don't know how this sort of dancing is done."

"It isn't so difficult to master for a man. The woman has to learn to do it in reverse without stepping on his feet."

Hoping she wasn't loosing patience with me, I lifted up my hands, pretending to hold someone in my arms. "Like this?" I danced round and round. _What a fool she must think me._

"A bit slower."

I slowed my pace.

"That's it."

"I say, Lady Whatsit," I exclaimed, adopting a ridiculous voice, "have you had many callers since arriving in London?"

"Oh, Lord Hoity-toity," she said, to my relief, following along with my nonsense. "Why, I've so many cards from the very best people that I've had to put out two china bowls to display them."

"Two bowls, you say?"

"Two bowls."

I laughed. "What an inconvenience for you and your china collection!"

She grinned, green eyes dancing. "I should like to see you in black jacket and white tie."

I stopped, hope rising. "Do you think I would look the grand gentleman?"

"Yes."

I could feel myself blush, and I hated myself for it. I bowed, saying, "May I have this dance, Miss Doyle?"

"Oh," she cried, curtsying, "but of course, Lord Hoity-toity."

"No," I whispered. "May _I_ have this dance?"

She glanced about her; as if afraid someone should see us. _Of course,_ I thought bitterly, _mustn't be seen with the help._

But, to my surprise, I felt Gemma's cold hand on mine.

"Ah, your, um, your other hand would be at my waist," she said uncomfortably, staring at her shoes.

I rested my palm against her hip. I could feel her warmth through the thin cloak she wore. My heart beat faster. I could feel my palm sweat. "Here?"

"Higher."

Slightly mortified, I put my hand to her waist.

"That's it."

"What next?" I said nervously.

She looked up, visibly unnerved. "We, we dance."

I turned her slowly; she was a good three feet away from me as we danced. I wished I could be closer to her. I wished I could feel her body against mine. I realized suddenly that she was purposely putting distance between us.

"I think it would be easier if you weren't pulling away," I said carefully.

"This is how it is done."

_Rubbish. What kind of fun is that?_

I pulled her closer to me, knowing her resistance would not match my will. Not now. I wanted her close to me, I wanted that more than anything else I ever could remember wanting.

I could feel heat emanating off her, heat I wanted more of. I was vaguely aware that her breasts were very close to my chest. I longed to feel the pressure of her body against my own, but I knew she would not permit such a thing. My heart rapped against my ribcage rapidly, as if bursting to escape.

Gemma looked around again, and I felt my hand move instinctively downward. She gasped, and my breath grew shallower. I could feel my stomach flutter.

_Must tell her. Must tell her now._

"Gemma," I said softly. She looked up, innocent eyes meeting mine. "There's something I need to tell you…"

She released my hand, suddenly, pulling away, steadying herself.

"Are you all right?"

"The cold," she said, nodding and smiling feebly. "Perhaps I should be getting back."

_No…I can't let you go…I have to…_

"But first, I need to tell you-"

"There's so much to do," Gemma insisted, cutting me off.

_She knows. She must know. I've been too obvious and she doesn't want it._

"Well, then," I croaked. "Don't forget your gift."

I handed her the knife, and our hands touched.

_Do it! Do it now or never!_

Her pink, petal lips were the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes, before I snaked my arm around her, pulling her towards me, closing the gap between her lips and mine.

Warm, supple lips. Lips as smooth as silk. Lips as soft as feathers.

My stomach turned, heart raced, Gemma's slender body against mine.

It was only a moment before she broke away; saying, "Please don't," and it seemed as if my heart ripped out along with her.

She stood apart from me, my Gemma, at least, I wished she was mine.

I had expected rejection, yes, but it hurt. The pain, humiliation, the thirst for more. More I could not have. More I would not get.

"It's because I am Indian, isn't it?" I asked desperately.

"Of course not, I don't even think of you as an Indian."

_Thwack. _Mind numb.

_I don't even think of you as an Indian._

My chest hurt.

_I don't even think of you as an Indian._

I felt as if I might vomit.

_I don't even think of you as an Indian._

I threw my head back and laughed. How could I ever have expected any less? What a fool I'd been. A bloody fool.

I sneered at her. "So you don't even think of me as an Indian. Well, that's a relief."

A look of utmost horror materialized on her face as she understood what she had just told me. "I-I didn't mean it like that."

"You English never do."

I turned from her, legs as heavy as lead as I walked toward my bag.

She followed me; I could hear her near me. I gathered my things and stuffed them in my bag. Numb. I was Numb. Nothing could touch me anymore.

"Where are you going?"

"To the Rakshana. It is time for me to claim my place. To begin my training and advance." _To be anywhere but here…_

"Please don't go, Kartik. I don't want you to go."

I stopped. A cold breeze brushed past my cheeks, teasing my hair, freezing my already frozen face, and chilling my soul. "For that I am sorry for you."

"You'd best go in," I said stiffly, hearing the servants wake. "Would you be so kind as to give this to Emily for me?" I handed her Emily's present, _The Odyssey_. "Tell her I am sorry I cannot continue teaching her to read. She'll have to get someone else."

"Kartik, don't you want to take the cricket bat?" Her eyes pleaded with me, asking forgiveness, mercy. Something in my chest stirred. Could my heart still be there?

"Cricket. Such an English game. Goodbye, Miss Doyle."

And with that I walked away, away from her, and into the frosty morning.

oOoOoOo

A/N: Aww, poor Kartik. Gemma really blew it that time, I hate to say it.

And yes, Kartik is melodramatic and full of lame poetic imagery. But we forgive him, right?

PS: Hey, guys, guess what! If you like my writing you can check out my other current fic, _The Good, The Bad, and The Angry_. It's Harry Potter, and its humor, too! What a great mix, don't you think? I'd LOVE a review and I think it'd be worth your while. Give it a try, will you? Heighten my self-esteem? Please?


	8. Secrets

**Disclaimer: Tell me I'm Libba Bray, and I'll tell you're the Queen of England.**

**A/N: Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry!!!!!!1!!!!111!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!11!**

**I'm soooooooo sorry, everyone, for taking so long. But I'm finished now, so maybe you'll forgive me?**

oOoOoOo

I walked down the empty street, fresh snow crunching under my boots. Fierce wind howled around me, threatened to rip off my very skin with icy fingers. But it didn't matter. I was already cold, everything about me was cold. Even my insides were cold.

That is, if I had any insides left.

Quite frankly, I was empty on the inside, I knew it. I was hollow. I felt nothing but the frosty bite of rejection. Ah, how it stung. But I didn't mind the pain, I barely noticed it. Nothing could touch me now, I was hollow.

Had I even a heart to pump the cold blood through my veins?

I trudged on, not paying any attention to where my feet were taking me. I thought of nothing, my mind was an empty shell. My eyes were downcast, but I saw nothing. I heard nothing but the wind. I didn't care, didn't care about anyone or anything. I had no one but the Rakshana, but then, I didn't feel much loyalty either toward them either. Look where the Rakshana got me. But I felt no anger. No remorse. Nothing mattered.

"_The Eastern Star is hard to find_," a frosty voice from behind me whispered.

I stopped, but did not turn. The voice sent chills down my back. _Could I have dreamt it?_

"The Eastern Star is hard to find," repeated the voice.

"But it shines brightly for those who seek it," I answered frigidly. I turned slowly, and faced a small man with clever eyes.

"You have an appointment, young one," said the man, his voice low but unwavering.

I nodded, faintly curious, but only a little. I felt no fear, only indifference. I couldn't care less if they had arranged for my funeral, I wasn't afraid of death or punishment. I wouldn't kill Gemma.

The small man took out a blindfold from his pocket, holding it up for me to see. "We must leave now, we mustn't be late…"

I nodded and closed my eyes, feeling him wrap the greasy cloth around my head. I knew I wasn't allowed to know where the Rakshana's current headquarters were located, but it made me feel small and unimportant. The Rakshana consisted of secrets and secrets only. So many secrets, secrets I had to keep, to be kept from.

oOoOoOo

My mind raced as I remembered Fowlson's words. My eyes were still covered, and Fowlson's oily drawl echoed through my eardrums as we walked.

Gemma was wrong. She was wrong all along. Miss McCleethy wasn't Circe, she never was. She was Sahirah Foster, member of the Order, friend of the Rakshana…

Everything made sense now. Gemma was wrong…

And yet, something was missing.

I puzzled over this new information, slowly going over every detail. The Order, the Rakshana, McCleethy, Circe, the Temple, Gemma…I stopped thinking. I felt a strange pull in my chest, recognizing the beat of my heart. So I did have a heart still, after all. Was that a relief, or a frustration?

I could feel the hand on my shoulder move down to my arm, clasping it tightly. My other arm experienced the same pressure, and I suddenly realized that there was more than one person leading me. My stomach tightened, and an unusual fear suddenly gripped me. _Where are they taking me, and why?_

Our footsteps echoed as we walked through what I assumed must be a tunnel of sorts. I could tell the ground was stone, possibly bricked. _Are we underground?_ The dim light I could see through the cloth faded away, and I heard a loud thud as a heavy door was opened.

We entered and the two men stopped me from walking further, one removing my blindfold. I opened my eyes, blinking a little, adjusting to the darkness.

Once I could make out the shapes in the dim candlelight, one of the first things I realized was that I'd been there before, for one other meeting; when I was first told that my second task was to murder Gemma. But last time we hadn't entered through a tunnel, but through the other door next to me. And last time there were no loud, boisterous cries of drunken men from above us, and I realized that we were near the streets of London. And last time there was no Gemma lying before me, startlingly green eyes wide with fear, looking very vulnerable.

My current hatred for her was forgotten, the hurt she caused me, the stillness of my heartbeat, all forgotten. I only saw her.

"Gemma," I breathed.

"Kartik," was her answer. Her voice was cracked. "What are you doing here? Did they take you, too?"

I rushed to get Gemma some water, and handed the dirty mug to her as she stood up shakily. "Are you all right? Here, have some water."

"I'm so very sorry about what I said that day," she said, looking up at me pleadingly. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"It is forgotten. Are you certain you're all right?"

"You must help me," Gemma exclaimed, ignoring my question. "Fowlson and Miss McCleethy kidnapped me and brought me here. If she has his loyalty, then we cannot trust the Rakshana."

"Shhh, Gemma," I shushed her. "No one brought me here against my will. Miss McCleethy is part of the Order. She's working with the Rakshana to find the Temple and restore the Order to its full power. She's come to help you."

"Kartik, you know that Miss McCleethy is Circe."

"Fowlson says she's not."

"How does he know? And how do you know that he has not been corrupted as well? How do you know that you can trust him?"

I didn't know. "Miss McCleethy isn't who you think she is." That much was true, I was certain of it. "Her name is Sahirah Foster. She's been on the hunt for Circe. She took the name McCleethy as a decoy, in hopes of calling the attention of the real Circe, as that was the name she took whilst she was at Saint Victoria's."

Gemma sneered. "And you believe this story?"

"Fowlson believes it."

"I'm certain that Nell Hawkins could tell you differently. Don't you see? She is Circe!" Gemma's sneering expression transformed into a pleading one again. "She murdered all those girls, Kartik. She murdered my mother and your brother! I won't let her do the same to me."

My heart tugged at my ribcage again, and I felt a pang of doubt. Could it be possible that Gemma was right? _What if Fowlson is lying? What if Gemma is right?_

_No, it couldn't be, not one of us, one of the brotherhood._

"Gemma, you are mistaken," I said.

She turned away from me, eyes lowered in disappointment. She didn't believe me. She didn't trust me anymore.

Suddenly, a woman wearing a green cloak entered the room, using the door I had used the first time I was brought here. She had a commanding air about her, and I realized at once that she was Miss McCleethy.

"This has taken entirely too long, Miss Doyle," McCleethy declared, frowning at Gemma. "You will take me into the realms and I shall help you find the Temple. Then we shall bind the magic and restore the Order."

"With access to the realms and the magic granted at last to the Rakshana," added a deep voice somewhere behind her.

"Yes, of course," assured McCleethy, waving her hand dismissively.

"I know all about you," cried Gemma suddenly, a defiant gleam in her eyes. "I wrote to Saint Victoria's. I know what you did to Nell Hawkins and the other girls before her."

"You know nothing, Miss Doyle," responded McCleethy callously. "You only think you do, and therein lies the problem."

"I know Mrs. Nightwing is your sister," announced Gemma proudly.

"Lillian is a dear friend," said McCleethy, surprised. "I have no sister."

"You're lying."

"Enough!" shouted another voice behind me. "It is time."

I clenched my hands into fists, watching as several masked men stepped out into the light.

"I won't take you in!" roared Gemma.

I moved forward involuntarily as Fowlson grabbed her arm forcefully from behind. I stopped myself, straining against my urge to protect her. They wouldn't hurt her, not yet.

"I've grown rather tired of your games, Miss Doyle," growled Fowlson threateningly. "They've cost us too much time already."

"You can't force me to do it."

"Can't I?"

McCleethy stepped forward, much to my relief. "Mr. Fowlson. Allow me a moment with the girl, if you please." She pulled Gemma away from Fowlson, whispering to her. Her voice was so low I could not hear her, and I wondered desperately what she was telling Gemma.

Gemma answered in an angry hiss, and Fowlson pushed me towards the door, signaling for his men to follow. We left the room but stood near the closed door, two masked men holding my arms again. I realized the situation was much more urgent that I had thought. They _would_ hurt Gemma, if it got them what they wanted. They still needed her to open the realms for them, but obviously that wasn't happening, not if I knew Gemma. What would they do to her when she continued to refuse them? They were planning for me to murder her anyway, after the Temple was opened. These men would kill a woman- a woman that I loved- for their own selfish gain. They would make of me a murderer, a puppet. These were not my brothers.

I glanced at the heavy door, and again at the strong hands holding my arms to my sides. There was no chance for escape. Not for me, or for Gemma.

"Fowlson!" I heard the abrupt shout through the door, and I stiffened. The men lead me back into the room, following Fowlson as he opened the door for us.

I looked at Gemma. She seemed unharmed, but her face was pained. Her eyes were angry and accusing, and they stared at me.

_Oh, no. Oh, God, no…_

"Kartik." She spat the name like a curse. "What was your task from the Rakshana? Not the one about finding the Temple." My heart stopped. _Oh, God..._ "The other one."

"The…other one?" I repeated stupidly. My knees shook under me, and I had trouble keeping my feet planted firmly on the ground. _She wasn't supposed to know!_

"Yes," she affirmed, expression hard. "Once I'd found the Temple. What was you task then?"  
I trembled under her condemning glare. I'd never seen her so angry before, so hurt. I was charged with the task to murder her, but I wouldn't do it! I couldn't do it! I couldn't say anything, my voice was gone. I looked up.

"Careful now, brother," whispered Fowlson to me.

I struggled to regain my voice. "It was to help you find the Temple. There was no other." I did not look at her when I said this, and I knew she wouldn't believe my feeble words.

"Liar," snarled Gemma, and the word ripped through my chest. I looked at her quickly, then, unable to meet her glare, looked away. "I'm ready." _Ready? Ready for what?_

"Very well," I heard McCleethy say.

Gemma took McCleethy's hands in hers, expression obstinate. She wouldn't take McCleethy into the realms…would she? Her eyes closed, and I watched her chest rise and fall in a steady pattern, deep breaths, preparing…Gemma moaned, and fell to the ground with a soft thud. I moved forward again, towards Gemma, worried. A large man in a mask held me back, I fighting against his strong arms uselessly.

Fowlson sighed. "What now?"

"She is masquerading," proclaimed McCleethy, giving Gemma a sharp kick. Gemma did not stir. "I tell you, it's a deceit."

"Get her up!" It was a command for me, and I willingly obeyed. Carefully, I hooked Gemma's arms under mine, and pressing her weight against my chest I carried her to the door.

"Fetch the salts," I heard Fowlson bark.

"She is bluffing," snapped McCleethy. "Don't trust her for a moment."

I couldn't tell if Gemma had truly fainted or not. Her breath was so steady, and mine fell in time with the beat. But suddenly, I felt her breath quicken, and she pushed me away, pulling out the totem blade I had given her. Surprise gripped me as she threatened everyone with the blade. What was she thinking? She was more than outnumbered, and the knife was barely longer than my own finger!

"You won't get away," Fowlson informed her. "You don't know which door leads out."

Gemma's eyes shifted back and forth, searching for escape, and her mussed hair gave me the impression of a trapped animal.

I took a step towards her.

"No more of this foolishness, Miss Doyle," said McCleethy impatiently. "I am not your enemy."

I took another step. Gemma's wide eyes locked on mine, and I knew what she was looking for. A way out.

I stared at her, trying to decide. It was only her in front of me, everything else faded away into darkness. She was all I saw. But I remembered Amar, too. He was so completely loyal to the Rakshana, loyal to these _dogs_, these fiends who would use Gemma for their own selfish purpose. Amar was gone now, but Gemma was here. And if I let them use her like they were using me, then she would be gone, too.

I let my eyes travel to the door, escape. I nodded to her, and I knew she understood.

"Wha' are you on abou' over there, boy?"

Gemma pushed through the door and I followed, shoving it closed behind us.

"Gemma!" I shouted to her. "The blade-hurry! Through the latch there!"

Gemma obediently wedged the blade through the iron latch, blocking it. Fowlson and his goons banged on the door, yelling as they tried to push through. It wouldn't hold them for long, but it gave us a head start.

"This way," I said, grabbing Gemma's arm firmly. I lead her out onto the street, snowflakes mingling with the foggy darkness of London. We walked quickly, almost at a run. The streets were noisy, teeming with drunken laughs and the cries of children. But my ears heard little, only searching for one sound. Very soon, I found it. Gemma turned in alarm, looking over my shoulder. She had heard them, too.

"I'll hold them off until you can get away," I muttered to her hastily.

"Wait! Kartik! You can't go back!" She looked sad. "You can't ever go back."

I hesitated. She was right. They would never forgive. But would she? I looked at her, and then looked behind me. The Rakshana, my only family…what would Amar say?

My thoughts were interrupted when I spotted Fowlson and Jackson, his lackey, rush out onto the sidewalk, searching for us. Their wild eyes soon met my own, and I saw McCleethy trailing behind them. I tried to move my feet, but they seemed to be stuck to the ground.

"Come on," said Gemma, looping her arm through mine. "We're going for a walk."

She yanked me along, dodging and swerving through the crowd. I tried my best to act normally, but in truth I was far beyond panic. What if they found us? What would they do to me? What would they do to Gemma? Where would she go now; they knew how to find her. Would I ever see her again?

I desperately hoped so.

"I wouldn't have done it," I told her, my voice slightly strangled.

Her face was blank. "Just walk, please."

"I would have let you get away," I insisted.

I heard Fowlson whistling behind us. He was close. Gemma glanced at them, and then turned to face forward. She drew in a sharp breath, dropping my arm and turning back.

"What are you doing?" I asked her, incredulous. My arm felt empty.

"It's Simon," wailed Gemma. "I can't be found out."

"Well, we certainly can't go that way!"

While Gemma looked torn between facing certain death, and facing Simon Middleton, I spotted a cab. A man was just reaching for the handle for his female companion when I swatted his hand out of the way, opening the door for Gemma.

"Duchess of Kent," I explained, grinning like a manic at the fuming couple. "She's needed at once at Saint James's Palace."

The man, sputtered at me, shouting curses while Gemma ducked into the hansom.

"I must protest, madam!" exclaimed the outraged man to Gemma. "It was rightfully ours!"

I saw Fowlson striding toward us, still whistling a merry tune.

"What seems to be the trouble?" Gemma's eyes widened. It must be Simon's father, Lord Denby.

"This young woman has taken our cab," exclaimed the man. "And this Indian boy claims she's the Duchess of Kent."

"I say, Father, isn't that Mr. Doyle's former coachman?" asked Simon, inspecting me. "Why, it is!"

"Here, now, boy!" Lord Denby addressed me. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Shall we call for a constable?"

"If you please, miss," said the man haughtily, offering his hand to Gemma, who edged away from it. "You've had your fun. I'll thank you to leave our cab at once."

"Come now, miss," called the driver. "Let's not 'ave all this trouble on such a raw nigh'."

Fowlson was getting closer, pushing through the throng of spectators. I thought quickly. I needed to get Gemma out; that was all that mattered.

I took a deep breath, and launched myself into the air. Bouncing and hopping around the sidewalk, I bellowed a song. I swung my arms about me like a monkey, and leaped around like a madman.

My audience stared at me, stunned.

"Is he drunk or mad?"

I suddenly leaned into the cab window; my face very near Gemma's shocked one. I smelled jasmine. "You know where to find me."

I threw my hands in the air, as if dancing, and brought one down hard on the horse's thigh. The horse threw its head back, whinnying loudly, and then galloped into the street, the driver yelling as he tried to control the animal.

I watched as the cab faded away into darkness, wondering if I would ever see Gemma again, smell Gemma again, feel Gemma again, kiss Gemma again…

Then, suddenly aware that a horde of people were gazing at me in astonishment, I continued to dance and sing, waiting for the perfect time to flee. A constable was arriving, blowing his whistle. Fowlson and Jackson pulled back, though still trapped in the multitude of bodies. It was now or never.

I abruptly stopped acting like a fool, and sprinted across the street, narrowly dodging a carriage. I heard the constable's whistle, but I knew he wasn't following me. I looked back over my shoulder. Neither were Fowlson or Jackson.

I was safe. I was free.

oOoOoOo

**A/N: This isn't the last chapter; there's one more. I'll post it right now.**

**Soooo, was it worth the wait? Or am I just embarrassing myself?**


	9. Divine Torment

**Disclaimer: Sorry, not Libba Bray.**

**A/N: Right-o, last chapter! And yes, Kartik is a natural romantic. Who would have guessed?**

oOoOoOo

I waited anxiously in my little room. I sat down in the wooden chair, only to spring up again, unable to sit still. I resorted to pacing back and forth, and then stopping, and then sitting again. For the last two weeks I had been this way, but not only within the confines of my little space. I had seen more of London than I had even seen before, roaming the streets when I became bored of my room.

Questions flitted through my weary mind in an endless circle. _Where is Gemma? Is she all right? Is Circe destroyed? What of the Temple? Will she forgive me? Where is she?_

I tapped my foot on the floor repeatedly, imagining her face for the hundredth- no, thousandth, time. Imagining her when I would see her. If I would see her.

There were two expressions that came to mind; two options, two choices. I remembered her smile, sometimes shy, often bold. But I also recalled the vehemence in her eyes after she had discovered what my second task was. That was the look that I feared most; that image of pure hatred, which my dreams would most often evoke in my feverish mind. Would that be her face? Would those be her lips, those full lips curled into an abhorring glower? Would those be her bright green eyes filled with revulsion for me? Those tears of anger that ran down her cheeks?

I did not know. I stood. Seeing her with that expression would be better than not seeing her at all. She would hate me, but I would love her still. She would hate me with those tears, those eyes, those lips…yes, I wanted to see her face again far more than anything else I could imagine. If she never came, then I would look for her. I had nowhere else to go. The Rakshana would never take me now. _Amar, forgive me_.

I heard a sound at the door and hurried towards it; it was the sound I was waiting for, the sound of those rusty little hinges creaking open to admit the only other person who knew of this place. _Gemma._

She pulled the hood of her cloak from her face, and I saw that her expression was filled with neither love nor hatred. Her face was careful, her eyes commanding, her lips set in a grim line. She seemed different, more mature. But it was still _her_, still Gemma, and I was eternally thankful.

"You remembered," I said softly. It was not a question. I had no more questions anymore.

"I remembered."

"Gemma-Miss Doyle, I-"

She raised three fingers, and I fell silent.

"I shall be brief. There is work to be done. I could do with your help, if you are willing to offer it freely and without obligation to another. You cannot serve both our friendship and the Rakshana."

I smiled. She was here. She wanted my help. I could give it her, certainly, there was no more Rakshana for me…

…I couldn't help her, what help could I possibly have to offer? The Rakshana didn't need me, why should she?

To my great surprise, my eyes filled with tears. I blinked, hard, trying to get rid of them. "It…" I cleared my throat. "It seems a necessary point that I am no longer wanted by the Rakshana. Therefore, it may do your cause no favor, being championed by one so disgraced."

"It shall have to do, I suppose. We are a rather ragtag crew."

I swallowed my tears and nodded. I still didn't understand. How could I help her?

She searched my face. "It seems you've changed your destiny after all."

"Unless it was my fate to do so," I countered, grinning.

"Well, then," said Gemma, pulling her hood on as she advanced to the door. _She's leaving._

"And allegiance to the Order…is that the only fealty you require of me?"

She stopped, but did not turn to face me. I waited hopefully.

"Yes," she whispered at last. "That is all."

I watched her as she stepped through the door without turning to close it, her cloak trailing behind her. The drape that hid the door from sight fell down as she dropped it, concealing the doorway, and shielding her from my view.

I closed the door and sat down in my chair. I wasn't quite sure if she had forgiven me or not, but she did want my help. What help I could give her, I couldn't possibly know. But at the moment I didn't care. I was lost in the scent of jasmine, and the image of her coppery curls, so much like fire, those curls. And her eyes were imprinted in my mind, forever, I was sure.

She is my tormentor. She is divine.

**FIN**

oOoOoOo

**A/N: It's a bit shorter than the last one, I know. But I quite like it, despite Kartik's feminine mindset.**

**I'll be starting a new fic now, Correspondence Courses. Anywho, reviews are appreciated!**


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